


waiting for some action

by youcouldmakealife



Series: throw up your fists, throw out your wits [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next night, Sidorchuk beats the shit out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for some action

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from The Strokes' "Juicebox".

The next night, Sidorchuk beats the shit out of him. Luke isn’t quick to hand off praise of any kind, but when he’s cooling his heels half-way through the second because the glue they used to hold his cuts closed until intermission wasn’t enough and he started bleeding all over the ice again, well. Sidorchuk beat the shit out of him.

He doesn’t get to go back in at all, gets stitches and needles and a lot of fussing, an ice pack to hold against his eye so it won’t swell. “Did you fuck his girlfriend?” one of the medical techs asks, and from the look on the team physician’s face, he’s probably not going to keep his job long. Luke wonders what the guy would say if he told him it was more a matter of fucking _him_. Or maybe it was getting fucked. He doesn’t know anymore, honestly.

The next game, a hop to Vancouver, he sits out, because he looks like a patchwork quilt, and he still does when they go to Calgary, but it hurts a little less, and as long as he avoids a fight he’s golden. 

Avoiding a fight is easier said than done when he has Brouwer going after him, and Luke really, really doesn’t want to deal with that. He’s been fucked, fucked up, and fucked over enough for a week, honestly.

What that ends up with is him staying out of the box (he gets a lot of joking high fives for that), and mostly whole when he meets Ben outside of the visitor room. Ben looks like he wants to prod, all concerned and hovering, and Luke sighs and pulls him in, scuffing his hair and otherwise embarrassing him in front of his entourage of one. “Spitfire,” he says, grinning, and ignores Ben mumbling at him.

“Miss me?” Fitzy asks, grinning right back at him, and Luke tugs him into a one-armed hug. The kid’s pocket sized, fits right under his arm. 

“Where’s your daddy?” Luke asks. “Is it past his bedtime?” 

Ben makes mortified noises, which are some of Luke’s favourite noises from him, and Ben and Fitzy attempt to convince him of Brouwer’s continuing threat upon his life, but hey, Brouwer’s already knocked a tooth from his mouth, Luke knows what he’s getting.

He gets an arm around Ben’s shoulders, an arm around Fitzy’s. “Beer or shots?” he asks.

“Beer,” Ben says, at the same time Fitzy says, “Shots.”

“I like you,” Luke tells Fitzy, squeezing his shoulder. “Shots it is.”

*

They manage the status quo for a surprisingly long time, and without getting caught. There are some close calls--luckily they were still clothed when Mrs. MacArthur came in to find Luke straddling Nikita’s hips, and random wrestling matches are common enough for teenage boys that she just rolled her eyes and asked if they wanted dinner when they were done ‘play-fighting’. And Luke had never been happier about Nikita’s paranoia than the day their alarms didn’t go off and the only thing keeping their coach from stepping in their room to catch them naked and sharing a bed was the fact Nikita had hung the chain the night before. 

They manage until the end of the season, even, a disappointing murmur that fizzles out before the playoffs, so Luke has no excuse not to put all his effort into exams, which is bullshit, but does mean he doesn’t flunk them. 

During exams they’re too busy to do anything but study, Nikita hell bent on graduating high school before he’s twenty, Luke with parents _and_ billet parents breathing down his neck about it. They manage a grand total of one mutual masturbation session when Nikita drops by Luke’s on his way home. It lasts maybe ten minutes. It’s ten minutes neither of them have to waste, but Luke feels like getting off probably increases productivity. He bets science would agree.

And then school’s out, and Luke is staring in horror at a room that’s accumulated way more junk than it should have considering he’s been in Red Deer less than a year. Packing it up takes forever, and Mrs. MacArthur gives him a kiss on the cheek and a hug even though he’s going to see her in three months and also she’s getting her _own son_ back for the summer. 

Nikita’s stuck in Red Deer, so on Luke’s last day, an hour before his parents are supposed to be there, he comes by while the MacArthurs are at work and they get off quick and dirty, trying not to get come on the bare mattress, Luke wary of any cars passing down the quiet street. Nikita ends up leaving about three minutes before Luke’s parents arrive, and Luke’s barely managed to zip up jeans when there’s a knock on the door.

Home is good. No matter how annoying his siblings are, seeing them is great, even though they all start demanding souvenirs like he was off on vacation somewhere exotic, and Ben tries to sit in his lap at one point, which he is _way too old for_ , they all baby him too much. The first night back they pull out the net and play boys vs. girls in the street. Luke goes easy on the girls, but the boys still win because Ben’s becoming a little monster. He’s way better than Luke was at his age. Luke doesn’t know whether to be proud or jealous, so he settles on proud.

He’s got Nikita’s number, obviously, but he waits a couple days, not wanting to seem, well, whatever, and then sends him a text asking what Red Deer’s like without him. Nikita just sends back one word, ‘boring’, but it makes Luke smile. 

Luke’s sisters both bug him about having a girlfriend, citing him texting and then smiling at nothing, and his tendency to mope around the house when he hasn’t gotten a text to smile at. Luke tells them both to fuck off, and then they go around the house for three days yelling that Luke’s in love, and Luke isn’t, okay? He just really, really misses getting laid. He wishes he had a lock screen like some of the newer phones so that he could send dirty text messages, because right now all he has is his hand and some really great memories.

It’s a good summer, it is, they do family shit and Luke does some conditioning with his dad’s help, pays it forward and helps Ben with his puck control and his backward skating, since he takes it too slow. His sisters give up on trying to get information about a girlfriend from him, and Nikita even occasionally texts him first, and it really is a good summer, it’s just never felt so long before.

The second he gets dropped off in Red Deer and his mom stops crying and actually _goes_ , Luke wants to sprint over to Nikita’s billet, but instead he sends a mass text saying he’s back, careful to make sure Nikita’s on the recipient list, and then puts his phone on silent so he doesn’t jump at every ‘cool’ he gets back, and gets started unpacking.

He does get a lot of ‘cool’s back by the time he’s quit packing and is bagged enough for an early night, but nothing from Nikita, which is fine, obviously Luke isn’t up for anything right now anyway. 

He sleeps through the MacArthurs leaving for work, and is woken up at ten by a knocking on the door that continues, insistent, even when he puts his pillow over his head. Luke marches downstairs, prepared to yell at the really persistent UPS guy or whatever, but when he opens the door it’s Nikita, looking the same as always, except maybe a little darker with a tan, his hair a little lighter from the sun.

“Hi,” Luke says, knows he’s got a stupid grin on his face but he doesn’t care.

“Hi,” Nikita says back, solemn, and then pushes him through the door with one hand, shuts it behind him.

They don’t make it up to Luke’s bedroom. Luke doesn’t have much clothing to lose, so he ends up naked, face against the wall, the edge of a picture of the MacArthurs poking him in the cheek while Nikita’s pushing a finger into him, slick.

“Did you actually bring lube?” Luke asks, and it’d maybe sound more judgemental if he wasn’t pushing back onto Nikita’s finger.

“You are tight,” Nikita says, mouth brushing Luke’s shoulder, and yeah, he probably is, didn’t even finger himself after the first couple of times were just an epic disappointment compared to the real thing, clumsy. He’s less familiar with himself than Nikita is, after all.

“I can still take you,” Luke says, snappish, and Nikita laughs, a huff of air, before pushing another finger in.

*

Ben is really bad at doing shots. Put a shot glass in front of him, and he’ll finish it, but there’s no guarantee he won’t be coughing for the next two minutes.

“He was adopted,” Luke tells Fitzy. Ben continues to cough, giving him the middle finger while he does so.

“Why aren’t we doing tequila, if Benny’s going to be dying anyway?” Fitzy asks. 

“Because I don’t want to have to carry you home,” Luke says. “I mean, I do, but.”

Fitzy grins at him.

“Can I have beer now?” Ben croaks pitifully.

Luke generously allows him to, but him and Fitzy stick to vodka, first a few more shots, then just with soda water and bar lime, because Luke really doesn’t want to carry him home. Take him home, maybe, but not carry.

Fitzy stumbles off to the bathroom, and Ben says, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Luke asks.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Ben says. “He has a boyfriend.”

“His boyfriend’s a dick,” Luke says.

“ _You’re_ a dick,” Ben mutters, and then, more clearly. “Could you just not? Please?”

“Fitzy can make his own decisions,” Luke says. “You’re not his keeper.”

“Fitzy’s drunk and you’re completely relentless,” Ben says. “So fucking stop.”

Luke rolls his eyes, but does tone it down a bit, since Ben’s got his panties in a knot about it. He does, however, throw his arm over the back of the booth, and ignores Ben’s glare. Nineteen and he’s already trying to take care of everyone. When Luke was nineteen he was, well, having sex with his ex whatever in a parking garage, so actually maybe he isn’t a good example.

“Last round,” Ben says, sort of quellingly, when they order again. 

“Thanks mom,” Fitzy says cheerfully, and Luke snorts. He really does like the kid. He’s got a bit of Luke’s attitude without all the bitterness attached to it. That’ll change, though, if he keeps playing house boy with his neanderthal.

Luke orders two last shots on top of their drinks. “Last round,” he says innocently when Ben looks askance, and watches the way Fitzy’s throat bobs when he downs the shot.

Fitzy and Ben get into some conversation that seems comprised of inside jokes or maybe some obscure video game, Luke can’t even tell, just tunes out, brushes his fingers against Fitzy’s shoulder, light, before pulling back before Ben can bitch him out.

“Bathroom,” Ben says decisively when they’re all mostly down to dregs. “Share a cab, Fitzy?”

Fitzy nods, and Luke waits until Ben’s disappeared before he drops his hand on Fitzy’s thigh, light. It’s thick, muscular, he’s got skater’s thighs, not the like the ones Luke usually gets around his waist, all lean twink thighs. He can’t say it’s more _fun_ to fuck a hockey player, considering Sidorchuk’s the only one he has, but it’s sure as hell better. “Or you could come back with me.”

“I like you, Luke,” Fitzy says.

“You too,” Luke says.

“That’s why I’m not going to tell Mike about tonight,” Fitzy says, sort of sunnily, and pries Luke’s hand of his thigh a little painfully. “Tell Ben I had to go.”

“Cocktease,” Luke mutters, while he watches him leave, conveniently sticking Luke with the tab. He hands over his credit card to the bartender, is signing when Ben comes out.

“Where’s Liam?” he asks, flat.

“He said he had to go,” Luke says. 

“What’d you do,” Ben says, and it’s not even a question, sounds so fucking resigned that Luke bristles.

“Why the fuck are you assuming I did something?” Luke asks.

“Because you did,” Ben says. “Fuck you, Luke, can’t you do anything without completely ruining it? You always do this. Just once, could you not ruin everything? ”

Luke stares at him. 

Ben scrubs his face. “Good night,” he says, finally, back to the good, polite boy their parents raised. Leaves Luke alone at the bar, not looking back.

“Can I have another shot?” Luke asks.

“Last call was five minutes ago, honey,” she says, not unsympathetically. “I can order you a cab.”

“Sure,” Luke says. “Sure, whatever.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/)


End file.
